The two 3am'ers Call Your Mother. There was a time when I was up at 3 a.m. changing diapers, warming bottles, rocking babies, and praying somebody would please go back to sleep before I lost my religion. Now, some 40 years later, I’m still up at 3 a.m. Not because a baby is crying. Because I have to pee. Life has a funny way of reminding you who is really in charge. Those two people who ripped my bladder apart 40 years ago to come into the world are still calling the shots on

Do We Dare to Hope?

"Or at the least some smart technology."

My grand just finished their first semester as a freshman at the University of Hawaii, and somehow that sent me digging through old memories — including this graduation picture from TSU. Lord, time has nerve. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was standing there in my cap and gown, full of hope, dreams, plans, and probably too much confidence for someone who still had to figure out life, bills, and matching Tupperware lids. Back then, I dreamed in Technicolor. Today

Where Do We Go From Here?

The Future of Work Still Needs a Soul

Life Is a Boomerang. Duck Accordingly.

Four Generations Back, Four Generations Forward

Privilege Starts Small

...America Does Not Have a Disagreement Problem. It Has a Moral Courage Problem.

...On morning coffee, golden retrievers, Twilight Zone memories, and the gratitude of not having all the answers. This will hit some of you this morning. Why? Because I’m saying the quiet part out loud — the things so many of us think about, but are afraid to say. This morning started simply: coffee in hand, walking my two big golden girls, the world still quiet, my spirit still waking up. And somewhere between the stillness and the rhythm of their paws, I had an aha moment.

Watching the latest fashion week, I was surprised and happy to see so many older models walking the runway. Not as tokens. Not as nostalgia. But as beauty, power, and presence in real time. And I thought to myself, well, it’s about time. There was a time when beauty culture treated aging like a flaw to be corrected, hidden, softened, filtered, filled, and denied. Youth was the product. Youth was the promise. Youth was the story. But lately, it feels like something is shifting

White Christianity in America has too often been built on a lie. Not on the Christ who walked with the poor, challenged empires, and refused the seduction of power. But on a fabricated Christ—white, European, controlled, and useful. A blond-haired, blue-eyed Jesus was never about holiness. It was about power. About conquest. About making domination look divine. And now comes a pope whose moral witness disrupts that lie. His witness is sharpened by a history that holds both si

Let me tell you something nobody says loudly enough…growing old is funny as hell. Not sad. Not tragic. Funny. Because, how did I become the woman who can throw her back out reaching for a shoe, needs silence like it’s medication, and now judges a restaurant by the seating, the lighting, and whether the parking is disrespectful? When we are young, we think life’s meaning is in the big things. The dream. The chase. The applause. The becoming. Then age comes in, uninvited and un

We are reaching for the moon again. Building, planning, searching, advancing. And maybe that is what human beings do best. We stretch. We imagine. We go. We have always looked up at the sky and seen possibility. We have always wanted to know what is beyond us, what else exists in the great silence above our heads. But I wonder if our greatest discovery in space will not be life out there. I wonder if it will be the painful realization that we still do not fully know how to be

He is risen. For many, that phrase lives inside Easter Sunday service, church hats, family dinners, and the familiar rhythm of a sacred story told year after year. But too often, we reduce it to religion and miss the deeper call. Christ did not come merely to start a religion. He came to show us how to live. How to walk in the light. How to love. How to suffer without losing our soul. How to rise. That is why Easter still matters. Not just because of what happened then, but

Leadership isn’t what you build while you’re there… It’s what remains after you’re gone. Call it karma. Call it consequence. Either way…it keeps receipts. And how you treat people isn’t a soft skill. It’s your legacy in motion. Read the rest of this quick-witted narrative over on Substack

I was at dinner with a group of sisters last night. Powerful Black women.Sharp. Accomplished. A couple visiting from Cali and the ATL. One of them is a successful business owner, and one is a public figure. Another from the other “D” Detroit - new to me, but connected through an old friend from my E’LON Cosmetics days. The conversation moved the way it does when women gather. Men. Hair. Beauty. Sex. Kids. Aging. And then… it shifted. Keep reading over on my Substack

I was listening this week…really listening…to a story about the United Nations and slavery. The UN has continued to advance resolutions recognizing the transatlantic slave trade as a crime against humanity and calling for reparatory justice across nations. And I found myself asking: What happens if the world collectively names the slave trade for what it was - an abomination? Not debated. Not softened. Not reframed. Named. Then I felt something else. Not agreement, but concer

Manifesting is everywhere right now. Speak it. Claim it. Attract it. But let’s stop pretending. A lot of what we’re calling “manifesting” is just laziness with better branding. It’s wishing, without the willingness to do the work. You don’t manifest wealth while avoiding discipline. You don’t attract success while ignoring structure. Read more over on my Substack